


juices like wine

by stonedgeralt



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Halloween, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, coworkers to lovers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedgeralt/pseuds/stonedgeralt
Summary: Jaskier laughs. “God, you’re so cute.” He reaches up and flicks one of the ears on Geralt’s headband. “Makes up for your piss-poor flirting skills.”Geralt laughs, too, and some of the tension leaves his body. “Never been my strong suit,” he says.“That’s okay,” Jaskier replies. “Let’s stop beating around the proverbial bush.” He leans in, impossibly close, to whisper in Geralt’s ear: “Tell me what you want, Geralt.”Geralt gasps and says the first thing that comes to mind: “I want to suck you off.”---After their boss screws them over on Halloween, Geralt and his handsome new coworker, Jaskier, find a way to pass the time.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 254





	juices like wine

**Author's Note:**

> This is the "short little Halloween fic" I told myself I would write this morning. Posting with one minute left on the clock. Happy Spooky Day!
> 
> Many, MANY thanks to Amanda for being my last-minute beta ❤
> 
> Title is from Duran Duran's 1982 classic, "Hungry Like the Wolf."

Ten minutes. Ten more minutes, and he’ll leave. It’s too late for trick-or-treating - Ciri is already home and getting ready for bed - but Geralt could at least be there to tuck her in and tell her Happy Halloween. Yen had sent him pictures of them together in their costumes: Ciri as a shepherd and Yen as a sheep. Geralt thumbs through their texts to find the photos again. He sighs and takes a sip of his punch, grimacing at the startling ratio of juice to alcohol.

The company Halloween party was supposed to be yesterday, but the boss had ordered it moved to the thirty-first, then made attendance mandatory (on a fucking Saturday) _and_ required that every employee wear a costume. Stregobor, dressed as a wizard, had shown up for half an hour and then left on “very important business.” 

Geralt hears a sharp sound and looks down to see that he’s squeezed his plastic cup too hard and cracked it. He grabs an empty one and dumps his drink into it, tossing the ruined cup into the trash. After Stregobor had left, several employees had gathered their secret stashes of booze and used them to spike the punch to a dangerous level. Geralt’s first sip of it had triggered a full-body shiver of disgust. 

That was two drinks ago. It’s not so bad now, though Geralt’s sure the punch is staining his fake fangs. Besides, he needs something to get through the next ten minutes. 

He glances up to take stock of his coworkers. A few are attempting karaoke while a small group of them dance along. At least two are asleep on the floor. Most are either sitting down or, like Geralt, leaning against a wall and checking their watches or phones.

A flash of red catches his attention. It’s the new guy, started a week ago, works in accounting, name is… not important right now. He’s young and stupidly pretty, and Geralt has caught himself staring at him a few too many times. It’s not his fault that the man is exactly his type. He’s currently dressed as a person that Geralt can’t identify, wearing a red bandana, heavy eye makeup, and what Geralt hopes is just a wig styled into a mullet. Some obscure musician?

Geralt reaches up and pushes his fake wolf ears aside to scratch at his head. The headband is cheap and itchy, and the tail hooked to his belt is valiantly attempting to pants him. Maybe it’s a good thing that he hadn’t gone trick-or-treating. 

When he looks up again, the new guy is looking directly at him. He lifts his cup, and Geralt returns the gesture. God, he’s hot - his black tank top shows off his well-muscled arms, and his jeans are sinfully tight. Geralt can’t even remember his name, but do names really matter when all you’re interested in is a quick fuck?

“Keep it together, Geralt,” he whispers to himself. “You’re leaving in eight minutes.”

He opens the ride-share app on his phone and blinks at the screen until his vision focuses. Geralt isn’t looking forward to paying a premium on a holiday, but he certainly can’t drive himself home in this state. Yen can’t pick him up, either, because she has to stay with Ciri. Geralt absently runs his tongue over his fangs as he scrolls through the options in the app.

“Hey, there,” someone says, “Geralt, right? From marketing?”

Geralt glances up and nearly drops his cup and phone. “Oh, er, yeah. Hey, uh…”

“Jaskier,” the new guy supplies. “It’s alright, we’re all a little out of it tonight.”

“Yeah,” Geralt says. He swallows thickly and asks, “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Generic eighties rock star,” Jaskier replies with a laugh. “They didn’t have one for new wave. Suppose I could’ve made my own, but I wasn’t planning on coming to this thing.”

“You and me both,” Geralt mutters.

Jaskier leans against the wall beside Geralt, so close that Geralt can feel the heat of him against his side. “So what made you pick a wolf?”

“It was a family costume.” Geralt makes a face, then reaches up and pulls the fake teeth out of his mouth so he can speak clearly. “My ex is a sheep and our daughter is a shepherd. We were gonna go trick-or-treating.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier says, with feeling. “I’m sorry, man. Stregobor really is a prick.”

“You’re learning,” Geralt teases. He notices that Jaskier’s cup is empty and gestures toward it. “Another?”

“I really shouldn’t,” Jaskier says. He hands the cup to Geralt anyway, a grin lighting up his pretty face. “Thanks, Mr. Wolf.”

Geralt’s heart leaps. “Er, no problem,” he says, quickly heading for the punch bowl.

When he turns from refilling both of their cups, Geralt sees Jaskier talking to a woman from HR. She’s dressed as a fairy, or a pixie, or something like that. She’s laughing at something Jaskier said, her hand on his upper arm as she leans close. Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, his hand stroking her hip seems to suggest that he’s enjoying her attention.

A pang of something pulses through Geralt’s veins. He doesn’t know what it is - anger, jealousy, shame, hurt - but it’s thoroughly unpleasant. Maybe Jaskier isn’t into men, after all, but there’s a very good chance he’s also not into married folks. 

Geralt makes his way over. He settles himself very close to Jaskier, pressing their shoulders together. “Hi, Marie!” he says brightly. “Are you glad to be back? I bet it’s a drag after honeymooning in Fiji. How’s Ben? I haven’t talked to him in a while, I think I still have his number.”

Marie’s eyes widen and her face goes red. “Ben’s great, thanks for asking,” she replies stiffly. “I’ll tell him you said hi.” Glancing at Jaskier, she says, “It was nice talking to you,” then hurries away. 

Jaskier takes a gulp of his drink, and Geralt is rather impressed that he doesn’t gag. With a relieved sigh, Jaskier turns his head to look at him. Rimmed in that dark makeup, his eyes look impossibly blue, and Geralt is nearly struck dumb by how lovely they are. Their shoulders are still touching, Jaskier’s bare skin against the fabric of Geralt’s sweater.

“Thanks for that,” Jaskier says. “My fault, not checking for a ring. I usually ask, but I do believe this punch has gotten to me.” 

“She’ll apologize on Monday.” Geralt is hyper-aware of how close they are, how easy it would be to wrap his arm around Jaskier’s waist. “Marie’s a flirty drunk, but I’ve never known her to actually follow through.”

Jaskier quirks an eyebrow. “See, at first I thought you were just trying to save me from drunkenly destroying a marriage,” he says, eyeing Geralt carefully. “But now I’m sensing that there may be an ulterior motive here.”

Geralt’s face burns when his sluggish brain finally realizes his mistake. “I mean,” he says quickly, “who knows, this punch really, er, packs a punch, so maybe it would’ve pushed Marie over the edge?” He’s stumbling over his words in his haste to explain himself, and his heart is thundering in his chest like he’s just run a marathon. “I just, uh, didn’t want you to make a mistake, is all,” he finishes lamely.

There’s a pause while Jaskier sips his drink, during which Geralt wishes very hard that he’ll spontaneously combust. Finally, Jaskier grins at him and bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s arm. 

“Thanks, Geralt,” he says. “I appreciate you looking out for me.” He raises his cup expectantly.

With an awkward smile, Geralt taps his cup against Jaskier’s and answers, “You’re welcome.” He takes a sip of the godawful punch, hoping that the alcohol will help him forget that he’s just made a fool of himself. Geralt was never any good at flirting, and he’s been out of practice for years.

“Besides,” Jaskier says casually, “I had my eye on someone else here”

It takes everything Geralt has in him not to shoot punch out his nose. “Oh?” he croaks, trying to cough as subtly as possible.

Jaskier hums. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says, “Marie is very pretty, and so is Lisa in purchasing.” He pauses, pretending to think. “And Luke from R-and-D, and that one manager, Andrew. Oh, and José in sales.”

Geralt is surprised there isn’t steam pouring from his ears with how hard his brain is working to comprehend what Jaskier just said. Maybe he didn’t fuck this up. Maybe he still has a chance.

“But,” Jaskier continues, “I think the prettiest person here is the head of marketing. You know, long white hair, eyes the color of honey? A smile that’s about as rare as a blue moon and just as stunning?” With a grin, Jaskier adds, “Currently dressed as a wolf?”

When Geralt opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Jaskier’s demeanor shifts, then, as he pushes himself away from the wall and moves to stand in front of Geralt. He’s very close, inappropriately so, and if anyone sees them—

“Stop thinking so hard, Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs. “Hell, I’ve only been here for a week. We don’t even know each other.” He leans in, and Geralt can smell his cologne, a citrusy cinnamon scent that somehow suits Jaskier perfectly. “But I’ve seen you watching me,” Jaskier says, “and I’ve been watching you, too.”

“Y-You have?” Geralt stammers. 

Jaskier laughs. “God, you’re so cute.” He reaches up and flicks one of the ears on Geralt’s headband. “Makes up for your piss-poor flirting skills.”

Geralt laughs, too, and some of the tension leaves his body. “Never been my strong suit,” he says.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier replies. “Let’s stop beating around the proverbial bush.” He leans in, impossibly close, to whisper in Geralt’s ear: “Tell me what you want, Geralt.”

Geralt gasps and says the first thing that comes to mind: “I want to suck you off.”

Jaskier’s blue eyes darken as he smiles. “Well, then.” He takes Geralt’s cup from him and set it down beside his own on a nearby table. “Lead the way, Mr. Wolf.”

Ignoring the way his heart skips a beat, Geralt turns down the hallway leading to the marketing department. While the thought of just barging into a random office and going to town is appealing, he’d rather not be disturbed, so he figures his office is their best bet. But then he sees the ridiculous portrait of Stregobor hanging over the elevators, and Geralt gets an idea. He stops and presses the up button.

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asks. He wraps an arm around Geralt’s waist as they wait, pulling him tight against his side.

“To the top,” Geralt says. 

“To—?” Jaskier laughs in disbelief. “You have the code to his office?”

“Unless he’s changed it, which I doubt.”

A cheery _ding!_ announces the arrival of the elevator. They step inside together and Geralt presses the button for the top floor, Stregobor’s office, then the six-digit code. The buttons light up green, and the elevator starts moving up. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier says, “that’s sorta hot.”

Geralt grins at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come here.” 

Jaskier presses him against the wall of the elevator and kisses him soundly. Geralt nearly goes boneless when Jaskier sucks his bottom lip between his teeth - as it is, he lets out a rather embarrassing moan. Jaskier just hums in amusement and does it again. Geralt clumsily flings his arms around Jaskier’s neck, threading his fingers through thick brown hair. Jaskier tastes of watermelon punch and cheap vodka, like a week of wanting finally come to fruition. Geralt’s veins feel like live wires, and it’s fucking exhilarating.

The elevator doors open suddenly. The office is huge, lit by the orange light of the city streaming in through the windows. Geralt leads Jaskier to the desk and pushes him gently down into the chair. Then he sinks to his knees between Jaskier’s spread legs.

“You’re not wasting any time,” Jaskier says, laughing breathlessly as Geralt struggles with the buttons of his jeans.

“Been waiting a whole week,” Geralt returns. He finally succeeds and yanks Jaskier’s jeans down. “Thinking about your cock, what it looks like, what it tastes like.”

“Tastes like any other, I suppose,” Jaskier jokes. Geralt gives him an exasperated look. “Sorry. Uh, carry on.”

Geralt palms the bulge in Jaskier’s briefs, drawing a gasp from above. “You’re big,” Geralt murmurs, eyes wide. 

Jaskier sounds nervous when he asks, “Not too big, I hope?”

“I like big,” Geralt says. And he does, he _really_ does - he’s practically drooling at the sight of Jaskier’s thick cock just inches from his mouth. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” Jaskier answers. He settles back in the chair, watching Geralt through half-lidded eyes.

After a deep breath, Geralt leans in. He licks a long, slow stripe up the underside of Jaskier’s cock, then sucks the head into his mouth. Jaskier makes a noise above him. Geralt takes more, until the head just barely touches the back of his throat. He holds it there for a moment, then pulls back and does it again, then again.

Jaskier groans. “Didn’t peg you for a tease,” he says. 

With a brief hum, Geralt continues, going just a bit further each time. Jaskier keeps saying his name, urging him on but not pushing him, though Geralt wouldn’t mind being pushed, honestly. Maybe next time.

“ _God,_ yes,” Jaskier moans. The muscles in his thighs are taut and twitching as he tries not to thrust up into Geralt’s mouth. “Oh, Geralt, you feel so good, _fuck—_ ”

Geralt decides to have mercy. He pushes forward until his nose is buried in the thatch of coarse curls above Jaskier’s cock, and teases his balls with his tongue. Jaskier cries out and can’t help the way his hips jerk. Geralt narrowly avoids gagging, but that’s one of his favorite parts of sucking dick, so he really wouldn’t have minded. He pulls back to suck at the tip, watching Jaskier’s face and delighting in the blissful expression he finds there.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jaskier babbles. “Please, again, pl—” He interrupts himself with a shout as Geralt swallows him down again. Geralt sets a slow pace, pulling back to swirl his tongue over the head before taking Jaskier to the root. He may be shit at flirting, but he’s damn good at sucking cock, and Geralt knows that Jaskier won’t last long.

He’s right, of course, and soon Jaskier is warning him that he’s close, so close, _fuck_. Taking a deep breath, Geralt pushes himself down one more time, licking at Jaskier’s balls where they’re drawn tight against him. He looks up through his lashes to see Jaskier gazing down at him in shocked amazement. Then Geralt swallows, and Jaskier throws his head back and comes, his cock throbbing against Geralt’s tongue.

God, Geralt has missed this, making someone lose their goddamn mind with just his mouth and then getting to reap the rewards of his talent. And Jaskier looks so lovely, his forehead shiny with sweat and his pretty lips parted as he gasps for air. For the first time, Geralt is aware of his own dick as it twitches in his jeans. 

Thankfully, once Jaskier has recovered, he’s eager to return the favor. He hauls Geralt to his feet and herds him to the window behind the desk.

“I’m not great at sucking dick,” he says, “but I’m quite good with my hands.”

Geralt laughs, then moans softly, bracing himself against the glass with both hands as Jaskier presses up against his back. Deft fingers undo the button and zipper of his jeans and pull the waistband down just below his ass. 

Jaskier rests his chin on Geralt’s shoulder and wraps an arm around his waist. “Fast or slow?” he asks, voice soft in Geralt’s ear. His other hand rests just above Geralt’s cock while he waits for an answer.

“Slow,” Geralt says. “Want to last longer than you did.”

Jaskier gasps in faux outrage and pinches Geralt’s thigh. “That attitude is rather unbecoming, Mr. Wolf,” he declares. “You’re also about to lose your ears.” Geralt feels his headband being adjusted. “There. Now, let me take care of you while you admire the view.”

Geralt groans as Jaskier wraps slender fingers around his cock. He pushes his hips forward, whining when Jaskier doesn’t adjust his pace.

“You said slow,” Jaskier murmurs, his tone amused.

“Yeah, well,” Geralt says, “I lied.”

Jaskier laughs and kisses the shell of Geralt’s ear. “Alright.” He smooths his palm over the tip of Geralt’s dick, smearing it with an embarrassing amount of precome. “Already?”

Geralt’s face goes red. “Yeah.”

“Shit,” Jaskier says. “That’s _really_ hot.” 

Just as Geralt is about to tell him to get on with it, Jaskier does, taking Geralt’s cock in his hand and slicking it with precome. Geralt moans and thrusts into his grip. Jaskier strokes him quickly, twisting his wrist just right and thumbing at the slit until Geralt’s knees are shaking.

“Look at you,” Jaskier coos, “coming apart so pretty for me.”

Geralt lets out an honest-to-god whimper at that. “Fuck, Jaskier, I’m close.”

Jaskier presses his mouth to the crook of Geralt’s neck and kisses him there. “Knew you wouldn’t last long, either,” he says. He quickens his pace, and Geralt can feel heat coiling tight in his belly. Jaskier’s arm tightens around his waist. His voice is just above a growl when he says, “Come for me.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Geralt wails. His hips jerk wildly as he watches his come spatter against the window glass. He reaches back, tangling his fingers in Jaskier’s hair, and pulls him in for a clumsy kiss, moaning into his mouth. Jaskier works him through it, drawing it out and making Geralt shudder until Geralt can’t hold himself upright anymore. Then Jaskier supports him as he sinks to the floor. 

“You alright?” Jaskier asks, not even trying to hide his amusement.

Geralt nods dazedly. “Yeah,” he answers. When his limbs are working again, he climbs into Jaskier’s lap, wrapping his legs around him and resting his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. 

Jaskier smiles up at him. “Hi,” he says. “Was that good?”

“Very,” Geralt says, and he means it. “And for you?”

“I think you know my answer, but I appreciate you asking anyway.”

Geralt laughs. They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Jaskier resting his forehead against Geralt’s chest while Geralt runs gentle fingers through his hair.

Eventually, though, Geralt sighs and says, “We should probably get back.” He glances at the window, then quickly away. “Er, clean up first, then get back.”

Jaskier groans. “I know you’re right,” he grumbles, “but I still don’t want to.”

Neither does Geralt, but he still stands and helps Jaskier up. They check each other for suspicious stains and make sure their jeans are zipped and buttoned. Then they use some tissues from a box on the desk and some hand sanitizer Jaskier finds in a drawer to clean the window and the chair, too, for good measure. No one needs to know what they’ve done here except the two of them, though Geralt imagines recounting it to Stregobor the day he finally quits.

The elevator ride to the first floor is quiet, but it’s not awkward. Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand at one point and squeezes it gently, and heat blooms in his chest when Jaskier squeezes back. 

When the doors open to the sound of bad karaoke, they both wince. They rejoin their coworkers easily: The few that are left are three sheets to the wind, having emptied both punch bowls in their absence. Geralt’s mood sours at the thought of having to call a car for each of them, but Jaskier just looks up the local cab company’s number, winking at him while he talks to the operator. When the cab arrives, the two of them herd the drunkards outside and help them into their seats, declining to sing along to their rendition of “Monster Mash.” Geralt apologizes profusely and tips the driver in cash.

When the cab pulls away from the curb, Geralt and Jaskier sit on the bench outside the building. It’s chilly, and even though they both have their coats on, they huddle close to each other. 

“So,” Jaskier finally says, his voice carefully level, “was this a one-time thing?”

Geralt flinches. “Do you want it to be?” he asks.

“No,” Jaskier answers immediately. “I definitely want to do this again. Preferably sober and not dressed like… this.”

“I thought you only liked me for my ears,” Geralt teases.

Jaskier laughs and says, “They do suit you.” He leans in to kiss Geralt’s cheek, and Geralt can feel him smirking. “You really ate me up, Mr. Wolf,” he whispers.

Geralt groans. “That’s it,” he says, “I’m leaving.” He stands to go, but Jaskier pulls him back down for a real kiss this time, sweet and gentle and absolutely perfect.

When they part, Jaskier asks if Geralt wants his number. Geralt, of course, says yes. He types it into his contacts and saves it. He texts Jaskier a simple message, just his name, so that Jaskier can add him to his contacts, too. Jaskier laughs when he shows Geralt the little wolf emoji he’s put next to his name. They linger for several minutes, neither willing to be the first to go. Finally, though, Geralt’s phone rings - Yen wanting to know if he’s on his way home - and he kisses Jaskier one more time before turning and heading for his car. He’s certainly sobered up, and he’d triple checked that Jaskier had, too.

When Geralt is finally in his car, he leans back in the driver’s seat with a happy sigh. He catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and reaches up to take off the headband, then stops himself. He grins at his reflection. 

His phone buzzes suddenly - a text from Jaskier. When Geralt opens it, he laughs and shakes his head. He taps the link and turns up the volume on his car’s radio. A woman laughs through the speakers, followed by an electric guitar and synths.

Singing along, Geralt puts the car in drive and heads home.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on Twitter [@stonedgeralt](https://www.twitter.com/stonedgeralt)!


End file.
